“Daddy, do you know who the best daddy in the whole world is?” Piper asked, cuddling up in her daddy’s lap.
Daddy was basking in it, just waiting for his award. “Who, honey?”
“Santa Claus. He’s the best daddy in the whole world because, man, think of the presents!”
When you’re a Piper, sometimes you go for a hike around a lake.
And it’s a good hike with trails and covered walkways. You jump and dance and leap about the lake. And then, you find a clump of cool trees. So, of course, you climb in them.
But you walk straight into a mess of spider webs. You come running right back out because spiders give you the eebie-jeebies, you say.
“Wait!” you say, “I love spiders because they eat all the other bugs I don’t like. I’m going back in!” And you do.
The end.
Here’s another version of the same story: Go Climb a Tree
While Sissy is away at camp, Piper and I are having our own little camp alternating between hikes, museums, and arts and craft projects. Today, our task was to paint a suncatcher. It looked easy enough.
I carefully read the directions out loud. “Looks like each paint color has a number that matches a place on the suncatcher,” I explained. The diagram was a bit tedious, but with Sissy away, I have plenty of time for complicated art projects that require more than my normal reserves of patience.
“Or you could just make it look pretty,” Piper suggested. “There’s a picture of the butterfly already painted. We could just follow that.”
Which is about ten times easier than the stupid color-coded number instructions. Good idea, P.
We opened the first miniature pot of pink stain. The kit comes with a plastic “stain spreader” rather than a paint brush, which adds an extra element of danger.
An hour later, we’d made some progress. Piper stuck with it. Until she decided that she needed an assistant. “An artist needs help, Mom. They need someone to tell what to do. An artist gets tired, you know.”
“Let me guess. I’m going to be your assistant?”
“Yes! I’ll be the master artist and direct you!”
It sounded like another excuse to boss me around, but we were approaching hour two and my back was beginning to ache.
So, with the handy help of the assistant and the bossiness of the master artist, we completed our creation. Ta da! And I learned that Piper is much better at giving artistic direction than following package directions. We can’t wait for Sissy to see our masterpiece.
We sent Piper to the mines yesterday. She’s been lazing about for five whole years. We figured it was time she learn what child labor is all about. And somebody has to help pay for Sissy’s fancy mountain camp. Geez.
Piper went on her mining expedition with her Nana and Papa to the world famous Elijah Mountain Gem Mine. They got their Little Miner’s bucket of dirt and began sifting. And sifting. And sifting. Mining treasures is hard work, but Piper persevered. “You know,” she said, “I’m just really good at this mining thing!”
Turns out, Piper has a knack for mining. She struck it rich! She came home with bags of genuine gem stones.
We set up our own gem cleaning station. Piper’s been hard at work ever since. She’s been washing, scrubbing, sorting. We’re not entirely sure what the glowing one in the bucket is. It’s either real gold or too much flash on the camera. Either way, Piper may have found her true calling.
Piper hiked to her first waterfall today. It was a little more than a mile up an incline. She was brave and tough the whole way. Every step came with a new challenge.
“Mom, can I run ahead?”
“Yes, with your Sissy or a cousin.”
“Mom, can I climb the rocks, too?”
“They’re slippery. Be careful.”
Then came the big one.
“I don’t want to just look at it,” Piper said. “I want to go in the waterfall!”
Of course you do. But it’s dangerous. And I’m scared you’ll get hurt. “Promise you’ll hold my hand?” I compromised, taking her hand in mine. I held on tight, but not too tight.
Together, with the help of an aunt, an uncle, and four cousins, we took Piper down to the base of this:
When we reached the pools of clear water, Piper peeled off her shoes and socks and went in. “Ah! Cool mountain water!” she yelled over the rush of the falls. She sounded like a commercial for the tourism board. She splashed with delight. She dipped her feet deeper. Then she stuck her head in.
As we climbed out of the waterfall, Piper was pretty proud of herself. So was I. She stopped at the base of the mountain and took a deep breath. “Ah! Cool mountain air!” she proclaimed. And it was.
We’re visiting the grandparents this week. As I mentioned yesterday, Piper did her own packing.
After a long day’s drive, we arrived to a home cooked meal and a cozy cottage. The cousins were reunited. There were screams of delight and joyful hugs.
Then Piper climbed up on a kitchen stool next to Nana, looked her up and down, and declared, “Nana, you aren’t very fashionable.”
Nana busted out laughing. Then she explained that as a scientist who travels the world teaching about conservation she hadn’t really gotten around to fashion.
Piper listened intently. Then she said, “And Papa married you anyway?”
This from a girl who alternates her tutu daily.
I sent Piper packing last night. Really. We’re traveling again, and she has strong opinions.
“Pack your favorite stuff, and I’ll be in to help you,” I directed. I’ve learned the hard way with Piper. She has to do it herself first.
After a few minutes, I came in her room to assess her progress. Tutus and more tutus. Wands. Sparkly headbands. Not a pair of underwear in sight. Bikinis. Lip gloss. More lip gloss.
Piper doesn’t pack outfits. She packs costumes.
We’re gearing up for a week without Sissy. Sniff. Sniff. She’s going to sleep away camp in the mountains. She’s been packing her trunk for weeks. It’s great that she’s excited, right? What a brave girl, huh? Piper and I are in mourning, but we’re keeping it to ourselves. At least I am. With Sissy away doing cool camp things, that means Piper will have two doting parents all to herself. And yet.
“No one ever pays attention to me!” Piper complained yesterday. I’m sure you’re on her side, dear reader. You can tell from this blog what a deprived child poor Piper is. Sarcastic sniff.
Still, I’m a bit vulnerable these days. Proud of my growing up kid. Sad for how much I’ll miss her. Grateful to have the time with Piper alone. It’s one long emotional roller coaster ride. So I fell for the “poor Piper” bit in the worst way.
“I’m available, P. We have an hour together while Dad takes Sissy to piano. What would you like to do? I’m all yours,” I said, wiping away her fake tears.
“Paint my nails, please,” Piper begged.
“Ah, honey. Of course. I can do that.”
“With this,” she added, pulling out an enormous box hidden behind her back.
My only logical reaction was to run screaming from the room and avert my eyes. Piper had clearly been digging through the “who the heck gives this plastic crap to a kid for their birthday?” pile. You know, the gifts you stash away for never? The one thing I forbid in this house is glitter. And there it was in four shiny tubes just waiting to embed itself in every corner of the house. I loathe glitter. It’s the devil.
“A designer nail and tattoo studio? Wow, that sounds fancy,” I managed through gritted teeth. Then I poured a drink rolled up my sleeves and said yes. Remember I was feeling vulnerable. Surely, I hadn’t paid enough attention to Piper’s “look” as the box encourages.
So, we unpacked all the tubes and glue and (gasp) glitter and set them all up in the tacky purple tray just like the front of the box instructed and got to work on our neglected “look.”
“They’re perfect!” Piper squealed. “Can we do this every day?”
It may be an even longer week without Sissy than I expected.
Piper is enjoying what we’ll forever refer to as “The Summer of Nutella.” You know the hazelnut chocolate spread?
She wants it on everything. She likes to keep an extra smear on her chin “for later.”
“Nutella’s the perfect topping!” Piper says. “If you put it on something healthy, like oatmeal, it’s still healthy underneath. It’s magic, really.”
Piper has requested a healthy dose of Nutella on the normal stuff: toast, strawberries, crepes, each of her fingers. She’s also tried to convince me to spread it on: veggie dogs, cheese, tortilla chips, each of her fingers.
I admit that she’s even inspired me. After I put Piper to sleep last night, I pulled out a buffet of other things we hadn’t previously dipped: cheese puffs (yuck), crab chips (surprisingly not terrible), goldfish (eh), animal crackers (yum), and pita crisps (awesome).
Tonight, though, we entered true Nutella heaven. We went out for dessert to a new cafe. Piper was expecting something good, but nothing like this:
I’d tell you how good it was, but Piper wouldn’t even share a bite.
Alice is missing. I know. I know. It’s tough news to take. When you’ve grown as attached to a six-inch-plastic Alice and in Wonderland as we have, it breaks a Piper’s heart. As best we can discern, she went rogue somewhere between Piper’s bedroom and the front steps of our townhome. It’s a lot of ground to cover. Here is Alice in happier days. Sniff.
We’re distraught, but we’re trying not to panic. It won’t help Alice. Keep calm and carry on. Wherever you are, Alice, we won’t rest until we find you.
Until then, the game must go on. I mean, once you’ve covered every inch of the living room space with “Lalaloopsy Land” and you’re gearing up to play the make-believe game of the century, you can’t let a thing like a missing Alice stop you. Sissy to the rescue!
I’m not saying that a one-dimensional Alice on high-quality printer paper cut down to size can take the place of the real thing. I’m saying that when a Piper is crying, desperate times call for desperate measures. Sissy solved the immediate problem, if not the case.
So, until Alice climbs out of the rabbit hole and returns to reality, we’ll be waiting. Happily.
piperism 